


young gods.

by onlyeli



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Toxic Relationship, dont come for me every relationship in heathers is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:51:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeli/pseuds/onlyeli
Summary: They are godly.





	

he’s heard countless sermons in his life, be it from actual churches, fidgeting on rock hard pews and messing agitatedly with his fingers, or at the dinner table, staring into his mother’s face as she gently recites bible passages, hands carding through unruly curls. when his mother dies, he rejects any and all sentiments of god, isolating himself from any deity that doesn’t bare his name. he is enough for himself, he finds. when the students of westerberg preach the name of heather chandler so feverishly, he’s right to be dubious. jd is the only god he’s ever needed - it’s not often he gets competition.

suspicions are confirmed the first time he lays eyes on her. she’s everything he hates, a stuck up and snobby rich girl who has the world at her fingertips. she’s a rotten cog, hailed like a martyr - he sees all that’s wrong with her and deems her too far gone. it’s a kick when she looks down her nose at him the first time. this boy made of stardust and iron does not need her approval ( he never needs any approval ) and yet here she is, expecting him to beg for it. when he subsides her with a few well placed words and a smile that’s more cutting than cute, he counts his very few favours. at least he’ll be moving soon, to a new city, leaving her behind & letting her continue to play god.

when he first kisses her, it doesn’t feel like a choice. sure, he’d stepped forward, angled his head downwards in order to kiss the blue ice from her red mouth, but it isn’t because he wants to. he hates her, he’s certain. hates the way her voice makes his skin crawl, hates the way her laugh resonates in his head, hates the way she’s only remembered for her teeth. when she returns the gesture, he mulls over the danger of it all. they’re like storms colliding, supernovas trying to outshine the other. two young kids with too much power - two small gods, just trying to stay in role.

rebirth isn’t the word. it’s typical - he’s had only his vocabulary for years, obtained through cheap horror paperbacks and thrillers flung onto gas station counters and any classic he could get his hands on, and yet jason dean is lost for the right adjective to assign. not an awakening or a realisation - he’s had his eyes open and head clear for a long time. it’s not a change, because she doesn’t bring out anything new in him, just things that were hidden. it isn’t an experience, and it isn’t an epiphany - it’s more a lucid dream, walking amongst things that never seem real. but, then again, thats what he thinks of everything.

still hung up on description, he loses more sleep than usual. it’s spent staring down at her, the strange and soft magnificence of a girl he’d despised. getting under people’s skin seemed to be his speciality, but never had he done it so thoroughly as to find out things he’d never knew. he watches her breathe in milky starlight, blonde curls thrown over her face, absence of red scrunchie giving her a younger look, as if she were a cherub. the word is right on the tip of his tongue, and he knows it. godlike. they are godly. not just imitations, but gods.


End file.
